Vinyard, The Grapes of Wrath - October 29, 2004
Tucker has a good friend from undergrad that he likes to go out and drink with. His name is Vinyard. Right now my dog is romping on his crotch with a toy in her mouth while he tries to sleep off a hangover from whatever it was he and Tucker did last night. Vinyard is usually at our house three or four times a week, and while this usually would be annoying, he is hilarious so I don't mind. I wish he would come over more often.
See, he reminds me of home. Vinyard is from Upstate New York, thus he is droll and stubborn. He is also Irish Catholic and politically aligned with our ancestors. I'm not sure if this is a New York thing, but when Kelly McGraeghy holds his annual "homeland fundraiser" in my home town next April, you can be sure no one will ask to what "organization" the money is going.
What's great about Vinyard is that he is intelligent. He went to undergrad with Tucker at U of Chicago and possesses a genius IQ he uses to his advantage but never rubs in anyone's face. So when I get to hang out with Vinyard I get an intelligent version of my Uncle JK and cousin Little Jimbo sans mullet and cavities. He provides me with that nostalgic rage and pent up hatred I grew up with and I don't even have to listen to him drone on about who Toby Keith beat up last weekend. Nor do I have to drink Genny Cream Ale.
He used to hook up with (and I usually hate that string of words but Vinyard "won't date you") my friend/roommate Taryn. She came to me early in their relationship with a googly-eyed smile and told me things about his prowess I wish I could forget. But I guess it makes sense. He is a pretty confindent man, the species I like to call BDM, or Big Dick Man. They have a certain swagger to them. Vinyard will likely say this is because his dick hangs to his toes.
If I had to guess how much he drinks, I would say a lot. I know this because he comes to my apartment afterward and falls through our glass coffee table and bleeds all over our kitchen. I also know he is rather tough (a boxer of some sort) because when you ask him if he needs anything to sieve the blood gushing from his chest, or perhaps a ride to the hospital, he grabs a roll of paper towels and sticks it to the gash and says very calmly "Nah I just need some sleep." There are drops of Vinyard's blood all over our house registering a variety of BACs.
I also know that he enjoys getting into altercations. Those are the mornings he wakens with walnut-sized knuckles and has to make sure the police aren't at his place before he can go back in. "I loooooooove fighting..." he once told me. I believe this was part of his story "The last time I broke my nose," meaning people have broken his nose more than once. My favorite example of Vinyard's love of conflict would have to be the one in which he approached a large football playing frat boy at a party because the guy had been harassing Vinyard's female friends.
Guy: [animated] "What are you gonna to do about it?"
Vinyard: [matter of factly] "Well I'm going to punch you in your teeth."
[This is the part of the story during which everyone laughs and I wait for the end of the story because surely he didn't just punch the guy in the teeth. But he did. I am considered silly for asking. He is Vinyard].
One night I decided to venture out with the boys. We went to Vinyard's favorite local bar, a redneck karaoke bar named Fred's. Vinyard forewarned us that is was a shithole, but it had cheep beer and real people and the band liked to play Merle Haggard songs. On the way there he told us about the night three metrosexuals were harassing an Eastern European cab driver for no real reason other than him being smaller and easy to pick on. Vinyard decided to back him because "If I'm choosing sides between three metrosexual trader douchebags and one Eastern European cab driver, that's an easy decision."
When we got to the bar we ordered some beers and listened to various Shania Twain covers. The place had been advertising in the indie papers, and trixies and hipster doofuses were everywhere like zebra mussels infecting a perfectly good pond. Vinyard groaned and said, "Here they all are in their never-ending search for authenticity."
The cab driver arrived and told me his life story because I am nice and will sit and listen to people's sad life stories. He was a captain in the Croatian army and was watching while his brothers were murdered and family was thrown from their homes. A four hundred pound Ex-Marine Force-Recon Something-or-other jumped into the conversation. He gave me his straw cowboy hat, and we danced to several country songs while he told me lies. We were debating whether my people, the Iroquois, or his, the Apache, were more fierce. Clearly the Iroquois won. Don't believe the movie hype. There were no heaters in those longhouses, people. NO HEATERS.
I decided to hit on a boy. It went perfectly well until I gave Tucker a hug, and then the boy walked over and shoved me and ran out. Clearly I wouldn't be calling him in two days. Tucker went out after him and I stayed in the bar looking for Vinyard and trying to comfort the cab driver who wanted to open up to me some more. I found Vinyard on a stool. He was politely telling the trixie he had been chatting up that he wasn't interested anymore. Apparently she had a Fupa (fat upper pussy area) that was well hidden by the darkness beneath the bar. "I like a fat ass, but I draw the line at a Fupa."
I told Vinyard that Tucker was about to get into a fight and likely needed his assistance. I've never seen a man so happy. He jumped up and walked out at a furious pace, but when we found Tucker he was empty handed. Vinyard wasn't pleased. In fact he was willing to fight anything in sight. So when a van full of Mexicans shouted "You fucking pussy!" out their windows as they passed by, Vinyard threw his arms up, charged down the middle of the street to where they were stopped at a red light, and screamed "GET OUT OF THAT FUCKING VAN RIGHT NOW! GET OUT OF THAT FUCKING VAN RIGHT NOW! GET OUT OF THE FUCKING VAN RIGHT NOW! RIGHT NOOOOOWWWWW!" Tucker gave me his coat and said, "This will be bloody. Go back inside the bar, Bunny." The light turned green and the van sped off.
Later on the ride home Tucker bit me in places, berated the staff of a McDonald's, and told me that the Marine was a phony and that the cab driver had worked for the "bad guys" during that war. I don't like conflict. I don't study wars. I think we should all just kiss.
Vinyard sat in the back seat and muttered, "Everybody's a tough guy till they meet the crazy guy."
So that, my friends, is Vinyard. One crazy motherfucker. I wish he would come over more often.
I'll save the story of the night he tried to conquer to mechanical bull at Hog's and Honey's for another day. Only Vinyard would try to conquer technology. God bless him.
Posted by at 8:46 PM
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Comments
i love this story. i've come back to read it a couple times over the years.
Posted by: john mcnealy at February 10, 2009 12:21 AM
Holy shit Vinyard's my hero.
Posted by: Shack-A-Khack at January 23, 2010 11:00 AM
